


paint by numbers

by asexuelf



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Cannibalism, Childhood Trauma, Dialogue Heavy, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Character Death, Painting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, also neil rights, still murder though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Sal and Travis meet in an after-school art program for troubled teens and hit it off.
Relationships: Sal Fisher & Travis Phelps, Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	paint by numbers

**Author's Note:**

> not my best work, but definitely not my worst. i got a small case of writer's block, so figured writing my way through it would be better than waiting it out... and i definitely think it helped!
> 
> sorry for any typos or formatting issues and i hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: apparently this is my 100th fic on my asexuelf pseud! cool!

"This fucking blows."

Startled by the angry tone, Sal looks up from his painting. It's a portrait of Chug on a white horse, unfinished and admittedly not very good, but it's still more soothing to look at than the angry face those words came from.

The guy's face is so scrunched up with lines that he almost looks like an alien from a movie; even as a human, it makes him look about fifty years older than he is. If it weren't for his eyes, intense and filled with something like anger, Sal might think he'd smelled something foul - or been drinking straight lemon juice. The guy looks totally sour, and not just become of his lemon-yellow hair.

Actually, Sal's pretty sure the guy's in his math class, but it's hard to tell, because he doesn't look this sour even while dividing fractions. And _everyone_ looks sour while dividing fractions (except for Todd, who has never looked sour in his life, even when he won Chug's lunchtime challenge for Who Can Fit The Most Warheads In Their Mouth?).

"I hear lots of people like getting blown," Sal shoots back, hoping to smooth out that face just a little. Even just a tiny laugh would be nice - anything to save the other good people in the library from his sour, sour wrath.

"Let me rephrase then, Sally Face." _Ah, but you_ have _heard of me!_ There's more evidence for the Math Class Guy theory. "This fucking blows and it _isn't_ blowing me."

Sal can't help it - he snorts out a laugh, snickering ungracefully behind his prosthetic. He's never sure how much the mask muffles his voice, but right now, given the guy's bad mood, he hopes it's a lot.

No dice. Math Class Guy sits next to him, heavy as a sack of bricks in the rickety wooden chair, and shoots him a look. "This seat taken?"

"Yeah, some angry guy is sitting there. _Paint a Different Picture_ isn't a mandatory program, though, so-" He shrugs, tries to sound as friendly as possible. "If it blows so much, he's really free to leave. You don't have to be here."

"Oh, fuck off." But it lacks vehemence or venom, the guy's face smoothing out a little. Now he only looks annoyed, like there's a fly buzzing around somewhere that he can't manage to smoosh. "My mom wants me here so… Here I am."

Sal nods understandingly. If his dad hadn't started getting worried about his nightmares flaring up, Sal might have skipped out on the therapeutic painting class, even with it being right up his alley. The people around him seem nice and the atmosphere is pretty relaxing, but Sal would much rather be sitting on his couch with Gizmo than listening to any other speakers tell him to "just think positively" and "keep walking towards tomorrow". 

Sal is happy to paint in solidarity with a fellow at-risk teen. He passes Math Class a blank canvas and pushes his paints and brushes towards the middle of their shared table. 

"Thanks."

"No problem." He leans back a little, looks at his Chug painting again thoughtfully. It needs more work, but he isn't sure where to start. It's easier to tell where to start with this guy, though - he seems like the type that hates walking on eggshells and hates other people walking on eggshells even more. "So, is your mom cool? Or is this her way of pretending you don't have problems?"

Math Class laughs, audibly shocked. "Very forward, Sally Face. But no, she's awesome. I actually haven't known her for a long time, but I'm glad to know her now. We only recently … let's just say _reconnected_. It's less traumatic for you that way."

"I'm already traumatized," Sal deadpans. "I'm an at-risk teen, remember? You might as well get some free therapy out of that."

When he laughs, Sal can't help but notice that the sound is meaner than before. Angry, Sal thinks, but not at any one thing. "Okay, you asked for it. My father, uh, kidnapped me. For over a decade."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah. He's in jail now. For kidnapping and uh, cannibalism. And murder. The whole _kit and caboodle_."

Math Class waggles his fingers by his face like it's a joke, making light, but Sal can see his eyes are haunted and far away. Maybe even in that jail cell with his father, wondering if the man will escape, wondering if he and his mother will ever be truly safe… Sal knows the feeling. 

"So, I found my mom… Well, _I_ didn't, but you know what I mean. And she rules. Dad told me she was dead, so seeing her again has been like a dream. If she wants me to go to a billion of these stupid programs, I will."

"Holy _shit,_ " Sal says again. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm really glad you're okay. Damn. And your mom, too."

Math Class looks at him, face finally smoothed out. Sal can't see him very well from the side, but thinks he looks kind of like Todd like that, all hooded eyes and thoughtful expression.

"Thanks. Me too… I'm guessing you're here because of-" He gestures vaguely to the mask. "Kids talk about it in the halls, but I haven't heard anything that didn't sound like Michael Meyers bullshit to me. Some people will believe anything, fucking honestly…"

Sal laughs humorlessly. "Yeah, I hear a lot of Michael Meyers bullshit, too… But I promise, I'm more Edward Scissorhands than Jason Vorheez."

"I don't know what that means, but I'll assume it means you won't dice my slice of suburbia."

"I will not." 

Math Class smirks, which pushes Sal on. _Keep walking towards tomorrow,_ he thinks, and takes a deep breath.

"I actually, uh. Have to wear this mask because of-" It's hard to say it, always hard to say it. The man is caught now, in jail, in prison, but for _so long_ , nobody believed him. Not the police, not his therapists, not even Dad. "Well, someone killed my mom, and I was left injured. My face was, I mean."

"Holy shit," Math Class echoes. "That's awful."

He sounds genuinely affected, like he sympathizes with Sal instead of just pitying him. And maybe he does - maybe he even knows what it's like, in a way. Sal can't imagine what having a serial killer as a father must be like, but it can't be much better than being the reason your mom is dead.

"I'm okay," Sal says. They both laugh. "Okay, so life sucks, but I'm here, right? I have a dad and his new girlfriend rules and she has a son my age who's my best friend."

"Larry, right?"

"Yeah… Sorry, you seem to know us, but I don't think I know you. Except for the fact we have math together."

"I'm Travis. Phelps, for now, but I'm trying to change it to my mom's name: Amin." He finally picks up a pencil, but only to fiddle with it. The canvas is propped in front of him like a blank mirror, waiting for him to be ready. "I guess you could say I'm a friend of Neil's. We met at GSA and he kind of adopted me."

Sal slaps his leg. "Oh! That Travis!"

Travis laughs. "Yeah, that me. He talks about me?"

"Only all the time! You're like a little brother to him."

Now it's Travis' turn to snort inelegantly, smiling and shaking his head. "More like little sister. Love that guy, though. On top of being- well, you know, my dad was also super homophobic. So… Neil kind of saved me, y'know? Even helped me get evidence together to get my dad in jail."

"Holy shit. I knew Neil was amazing, but…"

A happy sound escapes Travis. "I owe him everything. Even before the arrest… He saved me."

Sal thinks of Larry and Chug, his first ever real friends. Thinks of the pain of leaving the home his mother lived in. Thinks of the pain of leaving behind every tree she'd ever climbed, of selling the car she'd driven every day, of not being able to visit her grave to tell her about his week... And of Addison Apartments and Lisa's smile and Chug's friendly bets and Larry's unrivaled love and support.

"I know exactly what you mean."

They work in silence after that, both thoughtful. Sal gets to work on the horse's details and Travis starts drawing the outline of something on his canvas. Sal is curious, he'll admit that, but he gives Travis his space to work, focusing on his own portrait instead.

Eventually, their time comes to an end - the program's three hours are up, meaning the chaperones and motivational speakers are all going home. The library is still open, so no one else has to leave, but most people start filing out, leaving behind only the people that aren't yet finished with their work.

Sal considers staying. This Chug definitely needs more work, but it would probably be easier to work after it dries. He turns to Travis to see what he'll be doing and gasps.

"Hey! That's me!"

Travis grins, but doesn't look at him. "Yeah… I don't really get creative a lot, so I figured I'd just draw whatever's closest."

"It looks great…" And it does. It's more stylistic than realistic, but not a caricature. It's all shapes, like an abstract painting, but the colors blend together really well. "Are you sure you don't do this often?"

Travis scratches his ear bashfully. "Um. Okay, I confess, I really like drawing. I don't usually paint, though."

"Could've fooled me."

He laughs, chin tucked close to his chest. "Thanks. I really like yours, too. That's the guy that sits behind me in math, right?"

"Haha, yeah… His name is Chug. I thought he'd appreciate a classy portrait."

"I bet he'll love it. Maybe even hang it above his bed."

Sal laughs again, imagining Chug in a giant four-poster with expensive drapes all around it in a room full of Chug paintings. "Oh man."

"It can be the start of his collection," Travis jokes, like he's imagining the same thing Sal is. "Maybe the next one can be him on a tiger."

"Jesus, I hope so."

They fall into a shared giggle fit that is definitely not appropriate for the library, fighting not to make too much noise. The librarian gives them a look, but she doesn't come over to yell at them, thankfully.

Finally, Travis takes a deep breath, his laughter gently tapering off. "Okay, I think it's late enough for me. I want to get home before Mom does, see if I can make dinner for us."

"She's a lucky lady," Sal praises. 

Travis shrugs, still smiling. "Just making up for lost time, right? This past year hasn't been easy for her either - I'm just the one that can go to after school programs for at-risk kids."

They're packing up now, careful not to smudge the mostly-dry paintings as they put the cups of dirty water and used paintbrushes away. They wipe down their table, tuck in their chairs, and then they're off, walking side-by-side towards Addison Apartments. Sal wonders where Travis lives, but doesn't want to be weird and ask him. He seems to be going Sal's way for now, so he leaves it be.

The silence is comfortable, but Sal wants to fill it anyways. "Do you think your mom is an at-risk kid?"

Again, Travis shrugs. "Maybe. Finding out your missing son was stolen by a murderer… Meeting him again when he's almost grown and having to cope with both your bullshit and his…" He shakes his head slowly. "Making dinner's the least I can do."

Sal thinks of his dad, of too much drink and too little money. "Yeah, I hear that. Cooking sucks with one eye, but maybe I can try something tonight for my folks."

Travis turns to him again and smiles. "Sounds like a plan. Wait, you only have one eye?"

"Yup." He taps the side of his mask. "This one's glass."

"Wow. Must have been some injury."

"Tell me about it."

They walk in silence for a while, each holding their painting in front of them. It's a surprisingly comfortable silence, similar to the kind that Sal feels with Maple. He doesn't know her very well, but the friendship they have fell so easily between them and Maple is such a companionable person by nature that it's never awkward.

It isn't awkward with Travis either, even though the air should be heavy with the topics they've discussed. Already, Sal is feeling the familiar tiredness that comes after talking about his past, but, somehow, it doesn't feel _bad._ He doesn't feel angry or even sad, really. Just… tired acceptance. Like that odd sort of relief that comes after banging a knee, as if his body is telling him, _it's okay. It's over now._

And call him sadistic, but it feels good to be walking beside someone who hurts too. Travis makes for fine company.

"Do you want me to walk you to your place?" Travis asks suddenly. He stops walking, leaving Sal to hesitate and turn towards him questioningly. "This would normally be my turn, but if you don't want to be alone after, uh, what we talked about, I understand."

Unbidden, Sal's heart gives a tiny flutter. Of course, as usual, as soon as someone is sweet to him, his traitor heart has to go and get attached. _Chill out!_ he snaps at it. _You just met the guy!_

"That's okay," he murmurs - and it is. He'll always be a little paranoid walking alone, but the sun still stays high in the evenings and he'd be able to see someone running at him from a mile away on that clear expanse of road that leads to Addison Apartments, so he'll be fine. "You have to get home before your mom does, right?"

Travis scratches the back of his neck. "I don't _have_ to…"

"Really, it's okay. Thank you."

That makes Travis smile. Now that he's facing Sal, really looking at him, he can't help but notice how good Travis looks when he smiles. Has he been hanging out with a guy this cute all afternoon? "No problem, Sally Face. Oh, and - would you like the painting? If Chug gets a portrait, it's only fair you do too, right?"

Sal laughs at that, but accepts the canvas with a warm face. Blushing always makes his scars burn, but in the moment, he's just glad it's hidden beneath his prosthetic and Travis can't see it. 

"Thanks," he says. "I'll have to paint you one next time."

And then Travis grins, like an arrow shooting straight through Sal's chest. He can't help but notice that Travis' face looks a little warm too. "I'd like that."

And then they're walking in separate directions, waving shyly at each other, both smiling. It's like Ash all over again, only this time it's _worse,_ because Travis kind of seems like he likes him back. And since that's impossible, getting rid of these butterflies anytime soon will be too.

 _At least I'll be able to stare at the back of his head and pine in math class_ , Sal thinks wryly.

He doesn't realize it until he's already in the elevator, but with Travis on the brain, the walk back to Addison is a lot less anxiety-inducing than it normally is.

**Author's Note:**

> travis' mom's surname, amin, is a muslim name that means "trustworthy", according to the website momjunction. i thought it fit him :D
> 
> thank you for reading! 💖


End file.
